


Brother, This Is It

by SylvanWitch



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jax and Ope have some things to talk through before Jax gets hitched to his old lady.  Fortunately, they suck at talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother, This Is It

“Brother, this is it.”

 

Jax caught Ope’s eye in the mirror as he gave himself a last look-over.  It was just a quick ceremony in front of the Justice of the Peace, but still…

 

The look stretched until Opie shifted his weight, turned his head at a sound coming from out front.

 

“Clay’s here.”

 

Jax nodded, turned away from his reflection.  They’d both recognized the deep cough of Clay’s bike.  Opie was talking to break the silence, which wasn’t like him.  Jax took advantage of Ope’s distraction to give him another long look.

 

His brother in all the ways that mattered, Opie looked worn down, washed out.  He was clean enough, hair tugged into a semblance of order at his nape, but around his eyes were shadows and at the corners of his mouth deep lines not made by laughing, and his cut hung a little looser on his broad shoulders.

 

“Ope,” he started, but the returned weight of Opie’s eyes drove the breath out of him.

 

From down the hall by the bar, someone shouted, incoherent but happy, and they both laughed, a little nervous, Jax wishing fiercely for weed to mellow the edges of his nerves and dull the swimming feeling in his gut.

 

“I didn’t want it to go this way,” he blurted at last, cursing himself for not having better words.

 

Ope made a gesture, cutting him off with a flat, chopping motion that seemed to forbid any sound at all.

 

Another shout, this one closer—someone on his way to the head, probably.

 

They locked eyes again.

 

“I—“ Jax started, chancing the lightning in Opie’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the clenched fists.  Maybe he wanted Ope to hit him.  Maybe that would make Jax feel better.

 

But Ope didn’t hit him.  Instead, he opened wide those big hands, the ones that had roughed screams out of Jax with rough loving, and pulled Jax to him, closing off further stumbling attempts at apology by sucking Jax’s tongue into his mouth.

 

Whatever protest he might’ve managed was lost then in a moan he’d later deny ever making, and then he was in the familiar place between Opie’s long body and the wall of his bedroom at the club, barricaded by Opie’s broad shoulders and the breadth of him, helpless against the spreading of his knees, reflexive, as Opie brought one hand to Jax’s fly and slid behind the button.

 

Jax had a second to think about jizzing in his only clean pair of jeans when Ope’s hand found what he was seeking and snugged in against his belly, long finger wrapping around him tightly, so tight that his sight constricted, black dots dancing at the edges.

 

Ope took up a relentless pace, robbing Jax of breath by plunging his tongue into Jax’s mouth, mimicking every dirty twist of his fingers on the upstroke.

 

As always, Jax trembled, knees puddling, and shouted into Opie’s mouth, shuddering around the way Ope wouldn’t release him until he’d pulled every last sound from Jax’s slack, wet lips.

 

When he could think again, Jax reached a shaking hand toward Opie’s fly, but the same hand that had just taken him apart grabbed his wrist hard enough to grind bones, Ope growling in his ear, “No.”

 

Tracking to Ope’s face, Jax saw a shutter come down over his brother’s eyes, watched the lover drain from his face, to be replaced by the bland approval of a best man.

 

“Ope,” he whispered, but the big man only stepped away.

 

Later, as he raised his hand to put Wendy’s ring on her finger, he noticed a bruise on the inside of his wrist, a deep plum whorl like Opie had left his mark forever, and at one edge, the flaking remains of their last loving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment fic for zagzagael's SOA Slash Comment Fic back in September 2011.


End file.
